


Accepting an Invitation

by DruidX



Series: The Genderless!HoK (TES IV: Oblivion) [6]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Dark Brotherhood (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DruidX/pseuds/DruidX
Summary: Set after the events of the main quest. Grief makes people behave... worryingly.
Series: The Genderless!HoK (TES IV: Oblivion) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901968
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

"Ah, may I speak with you Arch-Mage?"  
I looked up at the tiny Breton girl approaching me, squinting at her through the raindrops in my eyelashes. She had robes that demarcated her as a conjurer.  
"Is there something I can help you with Magister?"  
"Ah," she bit her lip. "It's just that, back in the Lustratorium, we noticed you were having some... difficulties."   
I applauded her delicacy. The simple potion I'd been making had exploded on me, sending glass shards of the alembic shattering all over my workstation. I'd cursed a lot, then put the alchemical burners out with a Frost Bolt before stalking out.   
Rain dripped off the conjurer's cloak, and she twisted her fingers.  
"Are you... alright, Arch-Mage?" she asked.  
"Yes, thank you," I replied, keeping my voice level, pleasant even. Blatantly ignoring the fact I was sat in the middle of the Lustratorium's garden, on the ground, with neither cloak nor parasol to protect me from the rain that hammered down about us.  
"Could I... fetch you anything?"  
"Some wine might be nice. There should be something cheap in the kitchens."  
"That's not what I-"  
I raised an eyebrow. She quailed.  
"I'll go fetch you a cup," she said, backing away.   
"Just bring the bottle!" I called out to her departing back. She glanced back over her shoulder, a quizzical look. "Saves on washing dishes."

I tipped my head to the sky, letting the rain pool in my eyes and soak my hair. Allowing myself to just... be for a moment. The scent of wet dirt and sweet flowers reached me, the gardens silent aside from the hiss and thud of raindrops. For a single, blissful moment, I was nothing but the rain and the earth, the dance of a leaf, the hum of a brave insect. Then everything came crashing down, and I once again began to wonder what was wrong with me lately.

A day ago I'd been in Frostcrag Spire, making potions quite happily, until I wasn't. Everything spoiled, and I'd split grape must over a favourite book. I thought maybe it was the solitude that was wrong, and so I'd come to the Imperial City. I'd spoken to Phintias at the First Edition about getting the book restored, and he promised to look at it himself. Then I'd wandered, adrift, through the city, dipping in for a drink at the Bloated Float, only to barely touch the thing. I'd tried sleeping, only to be too fidgety, so I'd taken my weapons and dealt with a cache of vampires in the City's sewers, then unpicked and resecured the locks of everyone in the Elven Gardens district, just because I could. Exhausted by three am, I'd fallen asleep in the Arboretum like a common beggar, only to be woken and moved on at six am by an apologetic imperial guard – because, of course, everyone knew the face of Cyrodill's new Champion. 

I'd returned to my home at the waterfront and slept until midday. Determined to be productive, I'd taken a satchel of ingredients to the University, but had instead wandered around the archives for a bit. Unable to settle and read, Tar-Meena had chased me out, Arch-Mage or no, because I was disturbing the other magisters. I'd wandered into the Orrery because the spinning globes usually calmed me. Instead, the grinding of gears had irritated after only a few moments, so I'd gone into the Lustratorium and burnt everything I touched, culminating the said exploded alembic.

"Good day, Arch-Mage," came an amused masculine voice.  
"Good day, Raminus," I agreed, my eyes still closed, feeling the weight of the silk robe increase with every drop.   
"Conjurer Peneles asked if I would bring you this bottle of wine," he said to explain his presence. I heard the rustle of robes and assumed he'd sat on one of the benches close by. "Would you care to join me, Arch-Mage?"  
"Can't you just bring it here?" I asked. I lowered my head, swiping at my face to remove the worst of the rain, and gave him a pout, something that was probably most unbecoming.  
"No, Arch-Mage. I would rather you came here," he said. He sat on the bench, huddled against the wall. His heavy woollen cloak was soaking through already, and he looked most miserable. "Actually, I'd rather we went to the living quarters and discussed this over a bowl of soup."  
"Raminus, just give me the wine and go inside. I can see you're cold and damp."  
"Because you're immune to both, hum?" he asked, and I saw a smile quirk his lips.  
"I am the Madgod's avatar," I reminded him. "If I don't do something crazy like sitting out in the rain from time-to-time, I'd go sane."  
"That's not why you're out here, though, is it?" he said. "Conjurer Peneles told me about your accident in the alchemy labs. What's wrong?" I heard the frown in his voice, the majority of his face shrouded under the cowl of his hood. "You're a Master Alchemist. It's unlike you to do something so disastrous. The theatrics of freezing your station, on the other hand..." He expected a laugh, however small. I couldn't give it to him. He sighed. "Please, Arch-Mage. Come inside. If for no other reason that you're scaring the apprentice wizards. And to prevent your inevitable demise at the hands of whoever is fed up of your constant whining when you catch a cold."  
I considered his words, feeling a little sad about upsetting the students. "I'll go sit in the Arboretum," I said with a sigh. No matter what I did, it wasn't right. "Then I shan't be upsetting anyone." I stood and pointlessly brushed garden from my robes.  
"Arch-Mage..."  
"I'm sorry Master Wizard. Sometimes one just needs to sit in the rain, surrounded by plants, and contemplate." I strode towards the steps next to his bench. As I passed, he rose and caught my arm.  
"Magister, a moment," he pleaded. I nodded warily, and when he was sure I wouldn't bolt, he let go of my arm. Raminus unfurled the bundle of cloth he was carrying, and threw a fine woollen cloak around my shoulders, drawing up the hood. Only when he was satisfied it was wrapped snugly around me did he reach down and offer me the bottle of wine.  
"Please know, Arch-Mage, I still consider you a friend. If there's something on your mind, I'm happy to discuss it. Anytime. Except, perhaps, when I am practising my Destruction spells." He gave a dry chuckle. I stared for a moment, then took the bottle of wine from him. Rain dripped down my face, strangely salty to my lips.  
"Thank you," I said hoarsely. I hustled past him, rushing up the stairs, and on to the Arboretum.


	2. Chapter 2

I ambled around the Arbouretum for a bit, unable to find somewhere that felt as safe as the Lustratorium garden. Instead, my directionless feet took me to the Imperial waterfront, to the tiny graveyard therein. The area was blissfully empty. Mostly likely due to the rain, but I knew hardly anyone came down to this end of the tiny spit of land outside of the docks. I sat, savouring the cold smell of spray from Lake Rumare, the tingle of gooseflesh as I pulled off Raminus' cloak to fold as a seat. There was hardly any sound, this far out. The call of the docks carried on a low breeze, the slosh of the lake at the water's edge. I popped the cork on the bottle, a wisp of fruit ether snaking up my nose, and took a long pull of the bottle. It was rough stuff, grainy and vinegar-sharp, like a hard bruise. I appreciated the Breton girl doing as she'd been told; I didn't want to waste the good vintages on this.

I shifted a bit on my cloak-cushion, trying to get comfortable, but something kept jabbing me in the small of my back. Irritated, I reached around, drawing out a black-lacquered dagger. The Blade of Woe. I'd forgotten I'd left it there. A tiny dagger, in a tiny holster, at my back where it wouldn't easily be found. Lachance's invitation into the Dark Brotherhood had also been my back-up plan on numerous occasions. I shook my head at my naivety. One murder, that's all it had taken. One stupid, avoidable, accidental murder. I should have known better than to assume that a ghost was just a ghost in the Shivering Isles. Should have realised that Sithis could see into Sheogorath's realm as easily as into Mundus. Even if his recruiter had to wait for me in Bravil.

I looked at the blade, the way the rain trickled and dripped from the midnight surface, as black as any nightmare Vaermina could spin, feeling a void open in front of me. What had I left now? Raminus had been running the University for me during the Oblivion Crisis, Oreyn the Fighter's Guild. The Thieves pretty much ran themselves, and the Shivering Isles had Haskill. The Oblivion Crisis was over. Three months of constant work, and what had I to show for it? Emptiness and pain.  
Martin. Baurus. Jauffre. Steffan.   
All gone.  
I thought I might be crying. My screams joining the screams of the dead, as they echoed in my skull. But all I could see was the void, black as the blade in front of me.  
Nothing but pain left for me. Alone again.   
Falling head-first into an empty, black chasm of grief. Ice filling my veins to make me numb, to pull me down.  
I missed them so much I couldn't breathe. Insidious fingers of ice reaching into my chest to choke, to squeeze. Pressing down to splinter my ribs, to crush my heart beneath the nameless weight.  
But then in the darkness, red.   
They'd been taken from me. Pushed, _in extremis_ . Each loss, avoidable.  
Red anger, spilling out like blood in ink. Sloshing up the walls. A tide to coat everything it touched. To fill the empty well of nothing. Claiming, and taking.  
I'd tried to remain pure of intent for my Emperor. To believe in the Divines, to wear Their holy armour for him. But in the end, they'd forsaken me. I hadn't been enough to save him. Then let them forsake me! Let me be driven from their light, the scales tipped away from their favour.  
The tide of red lifted me from the blackness, engulfed everything before receding, a sanguine film of flotsam left behind.  
My hand gripped tight the black Blade of Woe. Its name suited the one who would wield it. My heart sealed, locked down tight. That icy embrace now a crooning comfort. 

I would take Lachance up on his invitation.


End file.
